The Knife That Cuts
by S J Smith-Evil Little Dog
Summary: Eliot's nightmares are keeping him up. 2nd Person POV.


**Title:** The Knife That Cuts

**Author: **Evil_Little_Dog

**Rating:** Teen

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything to do with this.

**Summary:** Eliot's nightmares are keeping him up.

* * *

"You don't want to know about that, Parker." You keep your voice controlled, but can still hear the thrum of tension in it.

"I need to know," she insists. Calm. Collected. Not like the Parker you've known these years. This time, she's filling in for Nate. This time, _she's_ the team leader. She's not pestering you with her goofy questions, she's watching you with steady eyes, and she's not smiling. She's the boss, and she's asking you what you've done in the past.

"I'm not talking about it." You make a cutting motion with your hand.

"Eliot." Her gaze softens, just a bit. "You're having nightmares. You're drinking. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

You flex your jaw, turning away from her. You grate out the words, mostly to yourself "Hoped you wouldn't."

Parker comes to you, silent as a cat burglar, and drapes herself on your stiff shoulders. Her sharp chin digs into a hard muscle, loosening it better than any massage. "Nightmares, Eliot. And drinking. You're not yourself, and when you're not right, none of us is right. We're a team! And you, you're important, and if this is bothering you, it's bothering us. Do you understand?" she asks, right in your ear, a funny, breathy, annoyed whisper that tickles your ear canal and makes you want to bat at her, but you know if you do you'd hit, rather than smack. That's how wound up you are. "I know Nate knew," Parker goes on, softly, maybe sounding a little blue at the thought of Nate, "but I don't. And I know you told me never to ask you. But I need to know, and you need to tell me, because, now, we're in this even more together than we were. So." She nuzzles your temple under your hair. "Please, Eliot, let me help you."

The breath you take is deep and way more shaky than you like. "I don't," you mumble.

She wraps her arms around your waist, pressing herself into your spine. "I know," she whispers, "but it'll help. I promise."

If you close your eyes, you'll see it again, everything you did, the blood baths you left behind. "Parker," you sigh.

"Eliot," she says back, just as low, and just as determined.

You shouldn't tell her. You should shake her off, and walk away, back to the bottle of whiskey you've got set aside. But it's already two-thirds down, and you know what's left won't settle you enough to sleep through the night. You swallow, and duck your head, feeling her warm breath on your nape. "I was…different, back then. I turned off everything, all my…my emotions. Just so I could get through the day. And it was like when I did that, it got worse. Like I had to surpass all the hell we were doing together, to show I was the biggest, baddest one there. The one everybody ought to be scared of. So I…escalated. I got worse. And when I was at my worst, someone with even less caring found me, and made me his go-to boy. There was…so much blood." You want to huddle into a ball. You want to cover your ears and scream to blot out all of this. Instead, you talk like its rote. Tell Parker what she wants to hear. "I was a killer for hire, Parker." You turn your head, barely getting a glimpse of her face out of the corner of your eye. "Whatever needed done, I did it, in the bloodiest way possible. And I was proud of it." That's the knife that cuts into you, night after night after night. "I lost track of how many people I killed." Your headshake is so slight, it barely moves your hair. "I was good at it, and got more jobs. I was muscle, and I was building a reputation of being a real hard hitter."

"But you changed your ways."

"Not soon enough."

You can feel her breathing, the way her body expands when she inhales, and contracts when she exhales. Her heart beats against your shoulder blade. "But you changed your ways," she repeats. "And you're not that guy any more. You're ours, Eliot, and you're your own person. And you help people now."

Putting your hand over hers, you squeeze. "Is it enough?" you ask, not her, nor the ghosts. Maybe the air around you, if it would answer.

Parker tightens her embrace. "Yup. And when you start thinking it isn't, you have to let me or Hardison know! Because we're a team, and we all need each other. And you," she pokes you in the stomach, making you flinch and whine reflexively, because she's _Parker_. "You are needed. Need. Ed." Her chin digs deeper into your muscle and this time, it's painful. "You'd better remember this, Eliot, because I'm only going to say this once. For right now. You're a good man. And I'll tell you that again, you big dummy." This time, she slaps your stomach, hard enough to sting. "As many times as you need to hear."

And, with her emphatic reply, you let your body relax, just a bit. Maybe, just maybe, she's right. You'll just have to keep thinking that way. "Thanks," you whisper.

Her answer is a big, smacking kiss on your cheek. "Right. Let's get you in bed, and sleeping. We've got a big day tomorrow!" Unpeeling herself from your back, she slaps your butt. "Go get that bed, tiger!"

"Did you just slap my ass?"

Parker shrugs, offering up that quirky smile of hers. "It's a nice butt?" Before you can react, she points to the door. "Bed. Sleep. Now."

"Fine, fine," you grouch, and follow the direction of her finger. At least you'll have this to take with you into your dreams tonight.

* * *

Note: Written for the prompt, "I shot a man in Reno/Just to watch him die." ~Johnny Cash

~ _end_ ~


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